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“What do you need help with?”

Well, that brings back memories. That I don’t want or have time for right now.

“Getting out of the pile of glass would be a wonderful start punk.” I shake my shirt and hear the faintest series of ‘plinks’ on the floor. Tile then, of some form or fashion. “I sure don’t want to fall face first in it.”

I swing Umberuin in front of me, still trying to shake the glass off. It’s all in my shirt too – I went with a baggy one today because I couldn’t find my others. (That is actually on my head because I just kinda shoved everything in my pack and then didn’t feel like going through item by item to find my favorite shirt.)

How far I can spread my smoke in this room? Too thin and I loose it. Too far and I loose it. Too thick and everyone sees it. Too many lights and everyone sees it.

Unless I’m with the nomads. They burn torches and candles for light and keep roaring fires. I love those punks.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

A silence – heavy and loud.

“Baron’s dead! The guard murdered Baron!” someone screams.

I sigh (I absolutely did not flinch and shriek. Absolutely not. What lies are you telling?) and scratch the scars under my blindfold.

“I’ve decided I want to leave. NOW.” I lean a little on Umberuin, feeling the exhaustion of all these years of running creep in. “Can you help me out of this building?”

If he doesn’t, I’ll smoke the room…

… where are my smoke grenades again?

They better not be in my pack. Ya’know, the one on the other side of the missing hole in reality. The one I fell through. Right after I unpacked my camp. Spires in a flooded tunnel, my dire rabbit is burning isn’t it? It was such a lucky catch, especially for me.

The grenades are in my pack, aren’t they?

Drake’s gonna kill me.